


Silence

by vodkamutini



Category: Kingdom Hearts
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Inspired by Roleplay/Roleplay Adaptation, Non-Canon Relationship, One Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-29
Updated: 2015-05-29
Packaged: 2018-04-01 20:20:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 705
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4033240
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vodkamutini/pseuds/vodkamutini
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And every single flower represented a single wish.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Silence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnakeFeathers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnakeFeathers/gifts).



She remembers the summer days where the sun bore down with so much heat, that it could be worn like a makeshift blanket, so much so that she would lie on her back, giddy from being unable to breathe. And she remembers the days where the sun dipped down below the veil of the horizon and the cool summer air washed over her like a wave and in these moments she felt truly alive, the echo of a heart beating deep within the empty crevice of her body and she smiled, naturally taking his hand between the spaces of hers and fell gracefully into the simple ecstasy of happiness.

Those days are well and truly over, she counted them one by one in the world chained with wrought iron and glued together by spaces within dreams. For each hour that passed, she wrapped a flower grown from the makeshift earth around the various wires that crackled and sparked with electricity-- a call out into the ever ending darkness; _I’m still here, I’m still alive!_ And each flower counts as a wish, the sum of which is almost an infinite number for things are grossly overestimated within the realm of dreams—one mind can’t fathom that the sky isn’t actually the limit and extends so much further than that.

Yet he remains ever a vivid image in her mind, fresh and pure. She remembers the way the line of his mouth stretches into a crooked smile and the rose-pink tints of blush that settle against the tops of his cheeks like a fine powder when he smiles. And she remembers how the bluish-green of his eyes were deep and bottomless, rippling like the rivers she’s seen many times within the book of memories that constructed and built the very base of her fragile, but hardy existence.

And she remembers how much she misses him, each and every single day of her life. She remembers the first day she left, and the first day she became disconnected from the real world and she remembers the salty taste that the fresh tears which rolled down her cheeks left and the way her body shuddered and shook with distraught pain, leaving the empty-sounding conclusion that even though her body is false and her existence was stamped with a huge question mark—that she alive, and so was he and what they shared was a real and true thing.

 Because the way his gloved hand, that trembled with nerves, yet bravely pushed a single strand of her golden, wispy hair behind her ear and the imprint of his lips against hers on that one spring day were solid proof that both of them had some form of place on this lonely, cruel world and the worlds that spanned out from the heart of that one. And their feet that touched the ground and spanned out, sending powerful waves of electricity that let her happily smile back into his gentle embrace. And she’s home. She’s always been home.

And then her home was ripped and torn from the seams, leaving scarred memories on the tips of her fingers. Her resolve becomes tempered, a blade forged from silence. Like so many of those that have forgotten her, let the image of her being drift from the confines of their minds—she refuse s to forget. And so the flower chain was born. It started with just one, then another. And it grew, blossomed, and became something magnificent.

The once dark and dusty room that had birthed the program formerly known as data-riku had been refined and perfected into a memorial, the very image of what that small garden he had once kept. Lilies were intertwined against roses and a myriad of colour filled every aspect of the walls; twisting and flourishing into a refracted rainbow that broke the barrier of the simple drawings that lay dotted on the walls of the white room.

The labor and time that it had taken were but a fraction of representation of the love that bloomed in her imaginary veins.

Four words breach as a phantom whisper against her lips. She hasn’t forgotten. She never will.

And the room heavy with a thick veil, fell silent.


End file.
